


The Most Awesome Girl in All of Europe

by sadlygrove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlygrove/pseuds/sadlygrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hungary joins up with Prussia's army the night before Waterloo, and he's reminded why she's the most awesome girl in all of Europe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Awesome Girl in All of Europe

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes** : [Lord Uxbridge](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Uxbridge%27s_leg) is my goddamned hero. Also, this was written for [](http://hetaliasunshine.livejournal.com/profile)[**hetaliasunshine**](http://hetaliasunshine.livejournal.com/) 2009!

_  
**The Most Awesome Girl in All of Europe**   
_   


  


"Wellesley wants us to bring corps to battle the French." The chief of staff frowned, eyes flitting over the paper and its torn wax seal. "Wellesley," he snorted after a moment. "I'll draft the refusal immediately."

"And who said we were to refuse?" The commander did not look away from the maps on the dining table made war desk.

"Sir, after the last battle, the British troops have probably--"

The chief of staff's complaint was cut short. "What do you think, Prussia? Shall we lend the Duke of Wellington a hand?"

Prussia glanced up from the maps on his side of the table. Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher was the name of the man sitting across from him, eying Prussia with a steady gaze. He was a handsome man with a bushy brown mustache and graying hair, off-green eyes that belayed a certain impatience. Prussia had known men like von Blucher for most his life; he was direct, aggressive in his actions and uncaring for empty pleasantries. Prussia liked him. Even after their last defeat, Prussia liked him. Prussia liked that von Blücher bathed his wounds in brandy and drank it when the bandages could soak up no more. After the retreat in Ligny, von Blücher had lie trapped under his horse for hours, trampled by ones still alive. The fact that he had survived made Prussia's heart nearly swell and burst.

"I'm sure England would appreciate our help," Prussia grinned. "As long as we let him have the final punch to France's kidneys, that is."

"I'm not sure I can guarantee such a thing, but, England is welcome to try." A spark had ignited in the old man's eyes. Prussia recognized it instantly, even knew what von Blücher would say before the words left his lips: "Tell the Duke we will happily meet him in... where was it?"

The chief of staff sighed. "Waterloo, sir."

"Waterloo it is, then." He turned back to the nation. "You've been quite helpful, Prussia."

"And awesome." Prussia yawned, stretched--God did his body ache and ache--and stood to take his leave of the commandeered house. "You'da gone either way, though, no matter what I'd thought about it."

The commander was already lifting another bottle of brandy to his lips. "What a convenience we are so alike, then."

Prussia waved a hand over his shoulder and set through the front door, soldiers saluting on either side as he made his way to the camp. The men were a rather drab sort tonight; a sour mood had settled around the corps after their last defeat and the night was oddly quiet. None of them, however, knew of the plans to march for Waterloo in a day's time--Prussia would let them be oblivious, for another hour at least.

Down the house's vacant lane he went, boots crunching over dirt and rocks before he came to the fence separating the commander's house from the tents and fires. One soldier stood at said fence, arms folded and face turned to the sky.

There was only a slight pause in the nation's step as he walked, taking in the soldier's silhouette and familiar frame. Grinning, Prussia took his place at the soldier's side, mimicking the stance. "So! You've finally revealed yourself!" There was no response, so Prussia tried again: "We're heading to Waterloo tomorrow."

The soldier's gaze did not leave the cloudy sky. "Waterloo? Where's that at?"

"Netherlands, I think. Maybe one of his sisters'll be there--it'll be nice to see a woman in a dress for once."

The soldier scowled. "Clearly you've never tried going to battle in a dress."

"I hear that Scotland guy does okay by it."

"How did you know it was me?" The soldier finally looked to Prussia, frowning yet curious.

"Your hips."

"...what."

"C'mon, Hungary, it's a sin to try to hide those in a uniform," Prussia half-whined, even though he had to reconsider as a cloud moved away from the moon. She was in one of the basic uniforms--his uniforms--brass buttons gleaming in the moonlight. A wave of possessiveness overtook him at the sight. Her chest was bound--God, he hated it when she did that, breasts should roam free!--and hair tied back. Prussia took a lock of it between his fingers, sighing dramatically; "You cut your hair. You... you look like a boy."

Hungary swatted the hand away. "That's the point! Just how long have you known I was--"

"Since Ligny," Prussia shrugged and left it at that. He could always find Hungary on a battlefield, ever since they were small things with rusty shields and swords. Not to mention... being on the receiving end of her sword more than a few times certainly helped him pick Hungary out of a crowd of soldiers, even when she was disguised.

"Hmph. You lot messed up real bad back there." She crossed her arms again, but Prussia could tell she wasn't actually angry. She'd have hit him by now if she was. "Maybe I should go home, leave this Waterloo business to you and England."

"Right, like you'd puss out on a fight." Prussia stuck his tongue out at her. "Why are you here anyway? That prissy Austria ain't even here yet--you're early to the party."

"Mr. Austia will get here in good time," Hungary bristled. "He sent me on ahead to keep an eye on things, more or less."

"Sounds like someone's making up excuses." Pale eyebrows waggled at her. "You worried about me, eh?"

Hungary made a gagging sound.

"Don't worry," he declared, "I'm too awesome to die!"

"One of these days..." Hungary sighed. She looked back up at the sky. "It's going to rain tomorrow."

"Where are you sleeping tonight?"

"Huh? In a tent, of course." She wrinkled her nose. "And not with you."

"Pft! Like I was even going to suggest that!" Prussia laughed--a little too loud--and pushed away from the fence. "Well, s-see you tomorrow!"

Hungary caught a corner of his uniform before Prussia could make his getaway. "I'm only here on Mr. Austria's orders to keep an eye on you. So come find me tomorrow, in the march." She let go of the fabric--and was that a smirk on her face?--before turning to leave the deserted lane. "Or I'll have to find you first."

Prussia watched her walk away, taking note of the subtle swing of her hips and how seeing Hungary in his uniform made him want to _die_. But in a good way.

  
"I told you it would rain."

"So what?" Prussia hopped over a puddle, though there was really no point--he couldn't possibly get any wetter. "Rain's awesome!"

Hungary couldn't suppress a tiny grin as she stepped over the same puddle, trying to keep in time with the other soldiers' marching. It had rained all morning, turning the roads into a muddy mess. They'd been at it for hours, making small talk occasionally broken by Prussia's roaring laughter or Hungary's punches that just grazed his jaw."Remember when we were kids how we'd--" She stopped, blushing.

"How we'd what?"

Dignified--as much as she could be covered in mud and rain--Hungary cleared her throat. "How we used to..."

"Toooo?"

"Push Mr. Austria into puddles after storms," she finished quickly, blush--and grin--returning to her face. Prussia laughed--laughed like he hadn't in fucking years since this fucking Napoleon decided he wanted all of goddamned Europe on a silver plate. "But that was a long time ago! I-I wouldn't do that to Mr. Austria now."

Prussia wiped a tear--or was that rain?--away. "You should; it might get the flute out of his ass."

"Be nice," Hungary chided, stepping over yet another puddle in the road.

"Fuck," he sighed when his laughs finally subsided. "What happened to that girl I lov--?" Prussia nearly tripped and ate the mud as that sentence reached his own ears.

But Hungary just smiled, and he wondered if she'd even taken note of what he'd said. "That girl was a boy back then."

  
It was the evening of June 18th when they reached Waterloo, and Prussia could tell England was having a hell of a time fighting Napoleon's troops. The Duke of Wellington, however, had chosen a good spot that concealed much from Napoleon's eyes. It practically made up for the fact that, in Prussia's words, the British cavalry was a clusterfuck upon arrival, and Hungary had really elbowed him hard in the ribs for that one, even though Prussia knew secretly she agreed with him. It had rained here too, earlier, and that was probably what had saved England's ass: Napoleon had waited for the ground to dry before attacking, giving Prussia and von Blücher more time to reach their Anglo comrades.

They had cut off France's supply line, reinforced England's troops, all while having what Prussia considered to be a grand old time. Hungary did not leave his side once during the battle, and it reminded him of the days when they both wore armor with an easy gait and spat blood and teeth to the ground. She was still, in his eyes, the most awesome girl in all of Europe; he decided this when her saber had gotten stuck in a Frenchman's ribs and she'd simply headbutted him as the final blow, successfully dislodging her sword in the process. It made for a strange date--and Prussia considered it just that, a date--killing Napoleon's men in lieu of dinner and a show at the opera. Prussia would not have it any other way.

They were under an elm tree with England and the Duke of Wellington hours later, sore and exhausted and in high spirits. Prussia had a nasty cut across his forearm that had really been his own fault; the Frenchman had caught him unawares while he'd been ogling Hungary punching an adversary in the liver-ish area. "Really," she sighed, "it's not going to be the end of you, but you should have been paying more attention."

Prussia shrugged, grinning to himself smugly as she began to dress his wound. That battle had been fun, and he knew he was insane for thinking such a thing, but it had been awesome just the same. Maybe it was because they had actually won this time; maybe it was because it was such a decisive victory; but probably it was because Hungary had been there. Really, Austria had been fucking wasting her, having Hungary clean his piano or whatever the fuck it was she did in his house.

He took the chance to watch Hungary as she finished cleaning his arm, wrapping it in a bandage. Blood had caked and dried on her forehead, sweat streaked her disheveled hair, and dirt was smeared all over her face and uniform. The sun was setting behind her, casting a bloody halo through her shortened locks.

With a final tug on the bandage, Hungary glanced up at her patient. "What is it?"

"You're gorgeous," Prussia admitted in a rare moment of subdued ego.

She started. "W-what?"

"A- _hem_." They both turned from their spot at the elm's roots--England was there, the Duke over his shoulder with a weary but pleased appearance. "The French have retreated."

Prussia scowled at the interruption. "Er, okay, thanks?"

A bushy eyebrow rose at that. "We will need to pursue them--to Paris, of course."

"Right fucking now?" Prussia wanted to add an incredulous _Can't you see I'm busy, fuckface?_ but thought better of it. They were allies, after all. For now.

But the look in Prussia's eyes had probably belayed these thoughts anyway since England's jaw clenched, vein in his forehead throbbing just a tad. Luckily the Duke clapped a hand on his nation's shoulder and answered in his stead: "Of course not; there must be time for rest. We have all suffered substantial casualties." He glanced behind him to a man on makeshift crutches. "Isn't that right, Lord Uxbridge?"

"By God, sir, I've lost my leg!"

"By God, sir, so you have!" The Duke barely suppressed a grin. "How are you feeling? Up and about, I see."

The Lord Uxbridge hobbled away, sighing dramatically. "No complaints! I have had a pretty long run. I have been a beau these forty-seven years, and it would not be fair to cut the young men out any longer." He paused. "Although the surgeon's knives were rather blunt, if you ask me."

The Duke of Wellington laughed quite loudly at that, and took his leave from the elm tree alongside Lord Uxbridge. Prussia and Hungary only stared.

England coughed lightly into his fist. "British humor. Anyway," he continued, "I will see you in Paris." And with that he followed the Duke away.

Prussia suddenly wanted very much to throw his sword at England's head for some reason.

Hungary rose from her spot on the ground promptly, dusting her hands off. "I will try to find us a pale of water," she muttered, then she too left the elm before Prussia could stop her.

Alone, the nation leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes, taking stock of his body. His muscles had a familiar ache from the battle, he had bruises from all the men they'd lost, but overall... Overall this thing would be done with sooner rather than later--Waterloo had proved that much.

Hungary returned an hour later with water for them both to drink, and neither mentioned what Prussia had said to her earlier because, frankly, they didn't have to.

  
They entered Paris on July 7th, and it became clear that soon every nation from Russia to Switzerland would arrive in the coming months to see to it that France was stripped of his land possessions and whatever money they could get out of him. England had gone on ahead of Prussia, towards the sea in pursuit of Napoleon.

"That would be the ultimate insult, wouldn't it?" Hungary looked up from the book she'd been reading. "Napoleon escaping to North America and England's old colony."

"I'm sure France is only doing it for a laugh, honestly," Prussia muttered. "Just one last kick to England's balls."

"I couldn't even imagine the repercussions of such a thing. You've met him before; would America honestly take Napoleon and risk a third war with England, do you think?"

"Who the fuck knows. You know what the ultimate _ultimate_ insult really is?" Hungary merely cocked her head at Prussia's question. "You still wearing a man's uniform while there are plenty of frilly French dresses for the taking!"

Hungary rolled her eyes, tossing the book aside. "I am not going through some poor woman's clothing just to--"

"This is France's house." Prussia pulled her up from the couch, all but hauling Hungary to the sleeping quarters. "They probably don't even belong to him in the first place!" He shoved the protesting nation to the giant closet in France's bedroom. "If he hasn't changed in the last hundred years, that kinky bastard might even have a maid's outfit in here, so help me look!"

Hungary politely declined and leaned against the door while Prussia rifled through France's abandoned possessions. "What is your obsession with seeing me in a dress?"

"Curiosity?" Prussia pulled a frilly white thing from the mass of clothing and threw it aside, not certain if it was designed for a male or female in the first place. "You're always wearing pants, or uniforms, or... armor or some shit like that."

"That's not true--I wear a maid's dress in Mr. Austria's house."

Prussia froze.

"With an apron."

"...That's not fair," he seethed.

"I'll make a deal with you," Hungary soothed, "I'll wear a dress if you wear one."

"Uh, hell no."

"No really! I think that's a wonderful idea!" She shoved past him, eyes glinting with a malicious twinkle. "How about this one? Red will match your eyes, right?"

Prussia stared at her.

"Come on, off with those clothes--this one looks like it might just fit you!" Hungary smiled sweetly like a snake smiles sweetly before it disembowels a rabbit. An awesome albino rabbit with red eyes and a nervous tremble, to be specific about it. Hungary slung the dress over Prussia's shoulder and proceeded to unbutton his uniform, humming a little tune.

"W-wait a fucking second!"

Hungary swatted his hands away, getting half of the buttons undone. "Come on; it's only fair!"

"Bullshit!" He grabbed her hands, almost in the same moment that Hungary swept a leg behind his ankles and tripped him to the closet floor. "Oof!"

"I'm sure you'd look... awesome." Hungary grinned, straddeling the other nation's waist and reclaiming her hands.

Prussia took stock of their position. "R-really, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask."

"I've seen you naked before." Hungary rolled her eyes, unfastening the last button. "It was pathetic."

"T-that was a long time ago!" Prussia snarled.

"So scrawny," she sighed, pushing the jacket lapels aside.

"Maybe two hundred years ago! Look at me now, I'm fucking awesome!"

"Shut up, honestly," Hungary muttered, "or do you want to get up and go make tea for this chat you're insisting we have?"

Prussia stuck his tongue out at his attacker, but raked a hand in her short hair and freed it from its tie. Before either of them could think better of it, he pulled Hungary down where she promptly bit the offending tongue and only then deciding it fine to kiss him.

When they broke, Prussia said; "Only here on Austria's orders, eh?"

"Maybe this is part of his orders."

"Well remind me to thank him when he gets to Paris," and he pulled Hungary down once more. Prussia hummed into her mouth, hands roaming to her thighs wrapped in the white uniform pants. He grinned into their kiss; he would destroy that jacket getting the buttons undone just on principal, ripping her bound chest free--finally!--and get reacquainted with Hungary's lovely curves. The thought of Hungary writhing under him made the nation groan, and Prussia moved to flip her over.

Hungary broke the kiss with a slight pant. "What are you doing?"

"Er, defiling you in France's closet?"

Strong legs clamped around Prussia's waist, stilling his movements. Hungary smirked. "It's my turn to be on top."

The other nation balked. "That was two hundred years ago, dammit!"

"So you do remember." A bite to his lip. "Next time we'll switch."

Prussia grumbled as he moved to undo his trousers. "Fucking better not be another couple hundred goddamned years..."

Hungary already had most of her brass buttons undone when she glanced up to meet red eyes. "Do you mind if I keep the jacket on?"

Prussia's hands stilled, and he stared at the uniform--his uniform--she was wearing.

"And of course I'll unbind my breasts, if that's what your stupid look is about."

"Fuck, you're awesome," Prussia muttered, all but tearing the rest of his clothing from his body. Even if it was another hundred years until this happened again, it would be worth the wait.  



End file.
